


Six Shots

by Eveiris



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gun Violence, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eveiris/pseuds/Eveiris
Summary: "Doll, you know I would never do anything to hurt you.""So tell me what I was supposed to do when you stole everything away from me?"Souls were long ago split into two because they were deemed too powerful. Despite being separated they still remain as one. A body is a mere shell that reacts to the condition of the soul. What happens to one will occur in the other. When your future is ripped away by your soulmate  last thing you ever expected to do  was to travel around with a full grown man playing cowboy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is taken off Recall since I decided to put it into a series. I'm not sure how long this will be though. Probably going to play it by ear. Hopefully someone enjoys it as much as I did writing it. It's not beta read so there might be a few errors here and there but I'll do my best to catch them. Also this is under a series so there will probably be other characters done for this as well.

The sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the kitchen before the deafening silence took over. Shards of glass lay spread around your feet reminding you that this was the forth cup this week. Turning your hand around you notice how stiff your fingers were. Even your arm felt stiff least up to your elbow. The doctors had eliminated MND off your list of potential causes. Your symptoms proved too rapid and isolated for such a disease. It was only your left hand and arm, everything else worked as it should.

Fingers twitched as you made the attempt to close your hand, but your fingers refused to respond. It was clear to anyone that it was getting worse by the day. "Come on! Please don't do this to me." Your desperate plea went unanswered. Doctors who had seen you last week had given you all sorts of looks. Most of which were pity. Some even stating how it would have been better if it had been MND. Medicine had come a long way and it was possible to even cure something as progressive as MND. There were even options for surgeries, yet they were options you could never consider. The conclusion of the 'disease' had left you a mess.

_"It's likely your soulmate."_

Your soulmate had gone ahead and lost his damn arm and within a couple weeks you would lose the use of your own. That was the only explanation the doctors could come up with. Denial had been the first thing you resorted to. Maybe they hadn't lost their arm. They could have broken it and it just needed healing, or perhaps they had MND and he was the one who needed that treatment. Naturally they didn't make much sense the moment you put more thought into it. The rest of the days were spent crying with frustration as watch and felt your arm slowly degrade.

It had started off with the small things like struggling with groceries or dropping your phone. Things you hadn't really bothered you until you could barely lift the pan off the stove. Two days after that your cup proved too much for your left hand. That was when you sought out medical assistance, but nothing could be done. Before long you wouldn't be able to move your lower arm or hand making you just as disabled as your soulmate.

It was selfish to think of yourself after all if your soulmate really lost his arm it made him an amputee. He was out there in a lot more pain than you would be, he would have to adjust to life without his arm and make do with what he has. It was likely that he wasn't rich like yourself to be able to afford a prosthetic. But at the same time you struggled to forgive someone who's actions had costed more than just your arm. Appointments had increased as you and your doctor discussed the various things you could do.Many doctors insisted amputation with the replacement of a prosthetic. The success rate of surgery was high and you'd have a better version of your arm but you hadn't the money to afford it. It would have be to be custom made, further more being a surgeon with a prosthetic would be difficult. People would doubt your capabilities and too be frank no one would feel comfortable placing their life in your hands. Rehabilitation was another issue, the pain and frustration was something you knew your mental well being wouldn't be able to handle.

Glancing over to the papers over on the table, you felt tears well up in your eyes. All those years of studying and practice would go to waste. All those late nights you spent reading and researching down the drain. The piece of paper reminds you of deadlines both near and distant, demanding that you slice the time between now and then ever thinner to apportion hours and minutes to each mind-numbing task. You could run only for so long. Taking a seat, you exhale slowly feeling the words glare up at you.

Salty tears fell onto the paper as the words began to blur. Your fingers twitched as you tried to lift the pen with your left hand. Using your other hand you helped position it correctly before you signing your name one last time. Your dominant hand would never write again, while knowing deep down you were signing your life away.

 

**WITHDRAWAL APPLICATION OF THE INTEGRATED THORACIC SURGERY PRACTICE RESIDENCY PROGRAM.**

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Your lips were now pursed in a firm line with your brows furrowed. The the knife met flesh, soft and pudgy, making a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make your victim scream. Quickly twisting blade in your hand, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. His screams only pick up and you're sure that it'd attract attention soon enough. You silently watch as his skin began to tear to shreds with the rotation of the knife. Closing your eyes for a brief moment trying to ignore the gruesome sound of his muscles and nerves being gouged. You would have ended things a lot quicker but you hadn't mastered fighting with just one functional arm and hand. With the man down you quickly take advantage of him by jerking the blade it all the way into his back. It penetrates deeply to the point that the shiny metal had disappeared inside him with the black handle was pressing against his broken skin. He lets out one last scream before his body goes slack.

  
Slowly standing you pull the blade out and wipe the blood against his torn shirt. You were out of breath and your hair a mess. You knew that travelling alone was dangerous but you hadn't really expected for someone to try and steal from you in such a popular location. Hastily sheathing your blade you feel remorse creeping up on you. You tried to talk things out but when he had pulled out his weapon you had no choice. Excuses began to form in your mind knowing that you could have done things differently. Killed him quicker. Not have decided to use the bathroom before your next trip. Given him some money. Scenarios began to fill your head as you washed your hand.

  
What you hated most about taking a life was that it wasn't your first or second. It was supposed to get easier, least that was what logic taught you. Instead it felt like the weight of guilt was growing with each kill. Quietly leaving the women's bathroom you make your way through the crowds of the train station hoping to disappear and go unnoticed.

  
Over the years of constant training your body had gotten stronger than you could have ever imagined. However your left arm remained unusable, in fact as time went by it began to atrophy. It had been nine years since you lost the use of it, but who was counting. It became painstakingly obvious to anyone else that you had lost the ability to use your lower left arm just by seeing the rest of your body. The disability proved too strong for your self esteem and you ended up hiding it behind the shawl. You had started off with jackets however they proved too restricting for your other arm.

  
The first few years of training had been hell. You had found yourself in Mongolia a week after you withdrew from your doctorate's program. The doctors had suggested you to take some time for some 'spiritual healing'. The money you had for your program went straight to travel and unfortunately you found nothing spiritual about about around the smell of burning sandalwood and patchuli. Training however had been a source of easing your frustration, a man had suggested you travel up north to which the trip took a week seeing how it was purely done by horse. Bit by bit your body learned to do things again without the use of your left arm yet your heart remained bitter. Days were now spent travelling and sight seeing. Finding meaning in your life as the monks would call it. It was what it was.

  
The heaps of people before you block your view as you soon take notice of just how frantic everyone is. People were soon being directed to evacuate the current platform and it wasn't long until you caught sight of police officers. Frowning at the sight, a part of you worries if the body was found. You try and backtrack to remember if you had seen any cameras around when you entered the bathroom. Squeezing through the gaps of people and getting the occasional elbow to the ribs, you managed to get by the officers.

  
"Hey you!" A man shouts from behind though it's enough for you to know that you hadn't gotten by them as smoothly as you thought you had.

  
A loud ringing noise vibrates through the air as you catch sight of the train in front making it's move. Breaking into a dash you rush for the train practically having to leap off the edge of the platform to catch the back of the bullet train. Once you had your feet on the ground you loosened your hold on the pole and opened the door. Practically stumbling in, you notice the dim light. Boxes were piled at the side clearly making this room the cargo bit of the train. The train picks up speed as you stumble forward. Landing forward you roll onto your back to catch your breath. Gazing at the ceiling, you can't help the bitter laugh between your ragged breaths.

  
"Great. Now I'm even running from the cops," you grumble softly to yourself.

  
The sound of something being clicked into place is heard as you find yourself staring at the end of a gun barrel. "What a coincidence. Me too, pardner."


	3. Chapter 3

Glancing further past the gun you notice a figure dressed rather strangely. His belt gleamed in the little light that seeped through the piled up boxes found against the windows. His buckle though had strange letters, you were unfamiliar with the phrase or brand. Doing a quick scan of the man, you notice of his boots. Were those spurs? His tattered poncho covered most of his upper body though it was hard to get a good look at his face. His cheeks and jaw looked like a recently denuded forest, showing chopped stubble in a thick mat. Cursing the lack of lighting you paused. Did he have bullet shells on his hat? Questions filled your head practically confusing you from the life and death situation you were in.

"You wouldn't really shoot a lady would you?" You finally manage to get out whilst questioning if this man had a few screws loose. Wouldn't be your first time meeting one that did. 

The man lets out a soft chuckle before returning his gun back into his holster. Your eyes narrow with his speed, knowing that if you were to try anything he'd pull it back out quicker than you could deal any damage. "Mind explaining why a lady such ye yourself is running from security?" He takes a seat over one of the boxes and gets comfortable whilst you slowly sit up with the use of your only arm. 

"Want to explain why you're hiding out in the cargo?" You shot back before you slowly pushed yourself to stand. Wobbling for a bit, your hand rests upon one of the boxes for support. Your question seems to create mutual ground because he leaves it unanswered and doesn't question you further.

The man before you takes something out from his pockets before placing it between his lips. It wasn't long until he lit the damn thing as you stared in disbelief. "Are you seriously lighting that thing in here? You're not supposed to smoke on a train!" You remind, knowing the smoke alarms would go off. "Darlin' this here's an old model. No smoke alarms here." He explained as the ember at the tip glows with in sharp intake of air.

"You're going to get cancer." You blatantly remind the man of the obvious though the cigar rolls to the corner of his lips as he lifts his head up to get a good look at you. "'Preciate the concern lil missy, but I didn' get to finish mine earlier round." After travelling for nine years and meeting a variety of people, not once have you ever met a man acting like a cowboy. Sure there were films about them, but they were highly exaggerated. And oh so cliched, you figured it was to replicate how wild west movies were back in the 2000's. With a heavy sigh you mentally suppressed the urge to remind him that you were going to get second hand smoke. At this point it didn't even matter.

"Where are we headed anyways?" The man before you removes the cigar as he exhales the smoke upwards. "East probably. Should be a couple hours before we stop." He mumbled.

"Well if that's the case we might as well get acquainted. I'm (Y/n)." You introduce yourself with a fair bit of confidence though he stiffens up. There's a brief pause as if he's contemplating sharing his identity. Not a good sign, he was in the cargo for a reason perhaps an outlaw? Or a thief. Was there such a thing as a cowboy thief?

"Jesse." His voice was a lot lower and he avoided eye contact. You do your best to hold in the snort. Did he get into the whole cowboy thing because of his name or did he just give himself a cowboy name.  "You looked more of a Billy to me. You know.. with the hat and all. Definitely a Billy to me." You joked.

"Hey now, I think Jesse a rather fine name. The ladies sure do love screamin' it." You can't help but roll your eyes as you lifted yourself up to sit upon over the cargo boxes. "Hard to imagine anyone into that sort of gig.”

It wasn’t long into the trip that the both of you picked up on frantic shouting. Noises were heard in the cargo up ahead, your lips parted ready to ask Jesse what could be happening up front though you’re greeted with a sullen look. “Stay here,” he states as if he’s already aware of what’s happening.


	4. Chapter 4

Getting off the cargo container you stand and follow behind the man. There was no good reason for you not to listen to him. The sound of the latch being opened could be felt as the cargo vibrated slightly reminding you that this train was definitely an old model. Making his way out first he grabbed onto the latch to open the door that led to the coach. However your face was met with the back of his poncho allowing you to get a good whiff of pice and creosote not to mention the tinge of tabacco. Being a whole head taller, he gave you little room for you to glance into the coach however the frantic shouting did concerned you a fair bit. “Jesse, what’s going on?” You question wondering why he had stopped before you.

“I aint’ sure this is better or worse.” Jesse mumbles clearly unsure with what he was supposed to do.

“Is there a doctor here! This is urgent.” Pushing Jesse to the side you step ahead noticing a man dressed in uniform shouting out to others. Most of the passengers stare with confusion while a few stare with concern. Tables towards the front are tipped over with food and glass scattered on the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Your question comes as quick as your stride towards the front.

“Are you a doctor? This man here isn’t breathing. He was making a fuss a moment ago before he started pounding his chest. I tried to help but he eventually stopped moving and fell to the ground.” He explained. A woman no older than thirty was found crouching over him with her head over his chest with tears streaming down her cheek. She’s saying things to him however your mind has shut off to everything around you. “Please move,” you request the woman as calmly as possible. Your tone is steady and your facial expression stern. The woman backs off immediately questioning if you’re a doctor however they go unanswered. Pressing your head to his chest you examine all you can before you notice the piece of steak on the ground with the shattered plate.

“Was he choking?” You ask the woman only for to nod. “I-I tried to help him but it was pretty bad. I called the staff to assist.” Your eyes turn to the man who look rather guilty at this point. “I performed the Heimlich manoeuvre a couple of times but he’s much too big for me.”

His answers are enough to let you know that you hadn’t much of a choice if you wanted to save his life. The sight of your blade causes immediate alarm as a few scream with fear. The man in the uniform steps forward as if he’s ready to stop you however you eye both him and the woman. “I’m performing an emergency tracheotomy. It’s a bit old school, but I doubt we have the equipment here to do cricothyrotomy.” Your explanation seems to get through to the man though the woman looks unsure of the idea.

“What are you going to do exactly,” she continues to stutter however you merely offer her a grin to assure that he was in good hands. You however had only done this once before, but it wasn’t the time to have doubts. At this point only you were capable of this right here and now. “Jesse! Get your ass here and help.” You shout over to the man who seemed fairly content with watching at the back.

The man wastes no time before kneeling on the other side. “I need you to support his body in this direction. Put your hand under his neck and lift.” Dropping the blade for a second you demonstrate how you would like him to be held. Jesse doesn’t question it instead he does exactly as you request. “Find me a straw or pen.” You demanded the woman who quickly stood at your request and rushed about to find what you asked.  
Pressing your fingers over his neck you find exactly what you’re looking for in seconds before you pick your blade up. You inhale deeply as you press the tip of the blade to his neck. Your hand shakes for a brief moment and you take a second to calm your mind.

“We don’t got much time for yer concerns right now, (Y/N). Whatever you plan on doing, you best do now.” Jesse reminds you.

Applying a little bit of pressure you make a small incision before quickly dropping the blade. “I have a straw!” The woman practically shouts as you hear her heels click and clacking as she ran over. Pinching the incision, you see the skin split open. Blood oozes out of the wound however with such a small amount you know you’d cut just as deep as you wanted to. Slowly letting go you begin sliding the straw into incision. Once it was one to a half inch deep continue with the next step. Pressing your lips over the tube you breathe into it quickly.

Everyone is silent and it feels like you’re the only one breathing at this point. “His chest is moving!” The woman shouts with obvious relief though you remain alert. Within a minute his eyes shoot open as he glances around with confusion. “You can move your hand now,” you mention to Jesse who seems to have finally taken a breath of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Brief notes on the timelines I'm using and the ages I'll be going by.  
> 2039- Mccree born  
> 2056- Joins Blackwatch Mccree (17 yrs)  
> 2064- Loses his arm (25 yrs)  
> 2069- Leaves Blackwatch (13 yrs in Blackwatch)  
> 2073- Stops talon at the train (34 yrs)  
> 2076 - Recall
> 
> 2045- (Y/N) born  
> 2064- 19 yrs old loses her arm  
> 2073- 28 yrs old (9 years).


End file.
